


Look Into Your Heart

by pinetreelady



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, Fluff, M/M, Pack Feels, of the indirect variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:31:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2390093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinetreelady/pseuds/pinetreelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek likes pop music.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look Into Your Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks, as always, to [elisera](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elisera) for encouragement and pre-reading.

One thing Stiles finds absolutely charming about Derek is that he sings in the car. Which, hello, probably everyone sings in the car sometimes, god knows Stiles does. But Derek's so damn SOULFUL about it, all earnest, knowing every lyric to his favorite songs. But don't get Stiles started on Derek's taste in music. It's cute, okay, that he likes the poppiest of pop songs. And it's not like they have to have the same taste in music! That would be boring. And Stiles has other friends to exchange music recommendations with. But it's as if Derek has no investment in cool cred at all; he's entirely unapologetic about his music. He sings his little heart out, eyes wide and face open, tapping his fingers and his thumbs against the steering wheel. Stiles would almost laugh at him but for how it makes his heart stutter a little. Dude's had a whole lot of sad in his life, and if somewhat cheesy, upbeat pop music gives him a lift, who is Stiles to criticize?

Stiles likes things a little edgier, a little rougher, with a little more depth and darkness in both the music and the lyrics. But Derek always listens to it willingly enough when Stiles is in charge of selecting music in the car or hanging around the kitchen or cleaning or whatever. That's pretty fucking sweet, too, to see him making a real effort to appreciate Stiles' choices. Stiles thinks Derek's probably more willing that way than he is, that he's actually nicer about it than Stiles is. Stiles tries to be respectful, he does, and he definitely keeps his mouth shut, but part of him deep inside can't help rolling his eyes at Derek's taste.

Stiles freely admits he’s a snob, but he tries hard not one of those douchebags who hates pop music simply by virtue of it being popular. He had a roommate in college who decried every band as a sellout as soon as they got any radio play, and that’s … Stiles is not that bad, okay. (One time Stiles put classic R.E.M. into a party mix and the dude had sneered at him.) It’s a rush to discover fantastic music by some obscure band, sure, but it’s also awesome when that band actually makes themselves a commercial success.

Derek says he just likes catchy and uplifting, okay (Kelly Clarkson, One Direction). And, occasionally, dramatic and emotional (Celine Dion). It’s okay, Stiles can deal. And it’s not like their entire pack doesn’t have wildly divergent music tastes, and they all manage to get along.

The pack is a bunch of flaming extroverts, and they’re mostly not-half-bad singers, either. They manage an occasional karaoke night with a lot of laughter and a minimum of embarrassment, but Derek never directly participates. No one’s made it into a thing; he loyally cheers them all on, claps and smiles and catcalls like the rest of them in encouragement, but it’s an unspoken rule that Derek just doesn’t sing.

It’s late, past midnight, and they’ve all taken a turn. Stiles sang old-school Fall Out Boy, Erica sang Blondie, Isaac and Scott traded lines of “Cecilia.” It’s a good night, and everyone’s happy, pleasantly buzzed. There’s a lot of laughter.

Stiles, coming back from the bathroom, is expecting everyone to settle up their tabs, now, as usual; the chattering mass of them will move out to the parking lot where they’ll extend their goodbyes and finish sobering up before they all go their separate ways with promises to do this again soon. 

But something’s up, tonight. Kira and Malia are flanking Derek, and when Stiles tunes in to what they’re saying, he realizes that they’re ... teasing and prodding at him to come and sing already, Derek! Stiles pays attention to this sort of thing, so he’s aware that Derek’s had a little more aconite-spiked beer than he usually allows himself. Still. It’s not like he’ll give in to the girls’ teasing. Right?

Stiles turns and sees Erica, leaning on the bar and smirking, phone out and trained toward the stage. Stiles head-tilts and looks at her hard for a moment. Does she think they’re gonna succeed in getting him up there? And she’ll get to record it? Stiles shakes his head. He knows it’ll never happen. 

Stiles is lucky, such as it is, in that he’s the only one Derek ever sings in front of. The others were disbelieving when Stiles started making references to Derek’s music taste -- it turns out he’d kept it a carefully-guarded secret and at first Stiles feels bad for betraying his confidence or whatever -- but who keeps their musical taste a secret, really?

But it’s clear from various conversations that no one had had any idea what Derek listens to, before Stiles starts cluing them in. Or maybe, just maybe, he stops trying to keep it a secret from them anymore. Maybe he’s okay with wearing his love for pop music on his sleeve now that his life has achieved some longed-for security and solidity. 

Stiles emerges from his thoughts to realize that the girls’ relentless pestering did get Derek up there, and the opening bars of … oh my god, he thinks.

It’s a grand gesture, Stiles realizes, chest tight, breath shallow. Derek is exiting his comfort zone, going up there to sing a cheesy ballad, for Stiles. He out-emotes Bryan Adams himself, with his rendition of “Everything You Do.” His eyes never leave Stiles’, and Stiles has to press his hands over his mouth, can’t even believe what Derek’s doing right now. It’s only the pack, witnessing it, but it still feels unbelievably intimate and Stiles is just … glued to his seat. He can’t think, or move, and he bets any money that someone else has a phone trained on him for his reactions and he can’t bring himself to care in the slightest.


End file.
